Frostbites
by Sad Wednesday
Summary: Drink up, baby down. Are you in or are you out? HD slash
1. Chapter 1

I started writing this one a few years back and have returned to it every once in a while. I've completed five chapters in my first language, finnish, and I'm now in the process of translating them into english. The plan is to write ten chapters or so depending on how people react to the story. Now, the first chapter's a bit short but the following ones will be longer.  
Review.

**Frostbites  
****by  
**_Sad Wednesday_

_**Chapter 1: Autumn **_

_Lips are turning blue  
A kiss that can't renew  
I only dream of you  
My beautiful_

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A dried up rose, once so vibrant red - now dimmed with the shades of brown - was placed in a simple vase. Its petals still seemed strong and thick, but with closer inspection you'd notice how easy it would be to reach out and crush the blossom into scented powder. The small veins crossing along the surface were now more visible than when the flower had still been rooted into the nutritious, luscious ground. It was funny how something now so dead and fragile could have once been a thing that grew and was alive.

Harry hated the stupid, ugly rose; every single time his eyes settled upon it he reached his hand to throw it away, but every time there was something that stopped him - and today was no exception. Insted of fulfilling his urges, Harry just settled for staring at the flower engulfed by mild revulsion.  
He remembered perfectly well the day he'd gotten the rose as a gift; it was a common, muggle-type of thing to give yet the triviality of it spoke of deep, heartfelt emotion. The rose was from Hermione. _Hermione. _The name didn't stir any feeling in Harry, only some tepid memories that slid out of his consciousness the moment he almost got hold of them. Hermione was just a name without a face, like a part of a story he'd read long time ago. She was just one more added to the list of people whom Harry had first betrayed, and then forgotten. He didn't want to remember. They were ugly, purposeless, _inevetable _- was this the word Dumbledore had used? - events following each other with accumulating speed and finally exploding into a circus of horror and despair.  
All this left Harry feeling agitated and confused; he couldn't grasp the emotions flickering inside his chest while thinking about these things, he couldn't press his fingers on them and make them stay. He couldn't make sense of them. He wasn't sure they were even quite feelings and emotions; not quite grief, not quite hate... Just something that made the insides of him feel strangely detached. He knew it couldn't be right, that it couldn't be _normal _not to feel all those strong, vivid things inside him.

Maybe he didn't have it in him to care.

Harry absentmindedly tugged the pendant hanging on his neck; a habit which had left his skin raw and tender.

Harry didn't bother to look into the mirror before opening the door of his small room and disappearing into the dark corridor, he knew the face looking back at him all too well; pale and gaunt, cheeks nothing but a pair of shallow dints and additionally some sort of shadow had taken over Harry's once beautiful and boyish features. He was like an ancient sculpture of some glorious god, decayed with time. He appeared years older than he truly was. His luminously green eyes seemed ridicilously large against the canvas of bone and skin. Even though almost everything in Harry's appearence had changed, was his hair - due to some ironic twist - still the same; just a tad too long and always ruffled. Sirius had always affectionately teased him about his hair, saying his head looked like the end of a mop. Even the memory of Sirius - whom Harry had considered the next best thing to a father - engendered that peculiar feeling like when you forgot to do something important for instance take the kettle off the stove before leaving home.

Harry strolled along the corridor illuminated by a few torches; behind the stone walls the world was still dark, it was still few hours until dawn. It was cold in the castle, a draft penetrated through the poor fabric of Harry's cloak making him shiver. It was only early September and not one frost-afflicted morning had yet dawned. Autumn was slowly advancing towards the inescapable winter; the first rainy days, the fresh nothern winds running across the callused grounds of Hogwarts, the oaks and maples gradually changing colour, and finally windows frosted over with the bitter cold. Harry'd always liked autumn, ever since he was little.

Though of course in the Dursley residence the changing of seasons was barely noticed let alone appreciated.  
A shiver of repulsion shot through Harry's body. He hated the Durleys. Although Petunia had sometimes had the decency to be distantly polite towards him - of course only because they were, unfortunately, related - and since Dudley wasn't much of an opponent as he grew older, slower and dummer, there was still Vernon, and unlike his son, he had wits. He mangled Harry both physically and mentally, and he _enjoyed_ it. Punishing and humiliating Harry was like some perverted, twisted game played by Vernon's rules - and he always won.

Harry passed many deserted, darkened classrooms on his way; for the past four months Hogwarts hadn't been a school anymore. After Dumbledore had gone missing only McGonagall and a few others from the faculty had stayed; the rest had quickly packed up their belongings and left. Naturally, all the pupils had left long before that, during those few chaotic days after Dumbledore's disappearence - no parent wanted their children in the same school with Voldemort's main target - which was Harry, of course - now when the only wizard Voldemort had ever even remotely feared was gone. Suddenly Harry had found himself in the middle of a nasty turmoil, and somehow people seemed to think he was now the head of everyhting, the mastermind, the commander-in-chief. He found himself giving statements to various newspapers, shedding the details of his so called plans and reciting meaningless, encouraging dictums. He felt like a fool. He didn't want the resposibility shoved into his arms, he didn't want to answer questions he had no answers for.

Harry was quite sure that if someone offered him the chance to go back to living in the cupboard under the Dursleys staircase, he would happily consent.

A forceful wind pressed itself against Harry's body at the front door, he adjusted his cloak to cover his delicate figure better. The trees in the distance, just barely visible in the twilight, were swaying from one side to the other as if in slow-motion. Harry trailed down a narrow path sloping down towards the lake.  
Blades of grass crackled under his shoes and his breath steamed in the cold morning air. Far in the east the first pale rays of sunlight were almost translucent against the sky; Harry stood still for a while examining the horizon with a scornful expression on his face.

'You're late.'


	2. Chapter 2

I'm back with a new chapter. I really like this one. Let me know what you think.  
Review.

**Frostbites**  
**by  
**_Sad Wednesday_

**_Chapter 2 : Sunspots_**

_How long have I been in this storm  
So overwhelmed by the oceans shapeless form  
__Water's getting harder to tread_  
_With these waves crashing over my head_

* * *

The sun was rising slowly, sliding in view somewhere far east. Its warm colours spred to the naked sky like a little drop of paint to a wet sheet of paper. 

Harry was staring at it, staring at it for so long that his eyes started to burn from pain, staring at the dazzling light until it was the only thing he could see. The sensation seemed to soothe Harry, to make him feel a little bit more tuned to the world, more a part of it somehow. It was just him in the middle of everything, floating without a body - without that body that had never been fast enough, clever enough, strong enough... -, only his thoughts flowing through the pure burning light.

For a while, Harry let himself indulge with the thought of being completely blind. He would be a totally different person then, with a totally different life. He'd probably live among the muggles, go to a special school, but lead an otherwise normal life. A normal life... Jesus, even the thought of it seemed ridiculous, so far away, out of his reach.

Sometimes thinking about how some of the smallest things could have changed his life so much, made him so angry he felt his heart rise up to his throat, wanting to choke him.

Sometimes thinking about his parents... That was the worse there could be. It made him feel all cold and dull inside, as if his stomach was filled with stones, pressing him down.

That is why he tried his best never to think about these things, or even better, to restrain from thinking at all.

'You're late.' came a voice, gliding into Harry's consciousness, flowing through it silently and calmingly like a sweet, old memory. Harry turned his face from the sun. Everything was nothing but blinding white and stinging yellow; incinerated formless figures rolled across Harry's purview, his cheeks wet from the water from his eyes. The world had melted into a mess of quaking liquid.

'_You _are early.' Harry replied and tried to focus his eyes on something.

'I'm here.' Suddenly that soft, quiet voice was right next to him, ringing in his ears in one tender chord. Feeble warmth of another human body traveled into Harry's own, melting his aching fingers and heating his lips now tinted with blue. All this felt like downing a mug of steaming cocoa. Thin fingers reached out to caress Harry's cheek, wiping away the frosted water; Harry leaned in to the touch allowing that wonderful warmth run through him, reviving him, pushing his blood on the move again. And once more, Harry was alive. He wasn't just a shell filled with feverish thoughts, cold stone and avoidance. Blood rushed forward in his veins, his heart pounded against his ribs and he knew how to breathe.

'It's a beautiful morning.' Harry finally muttered with unmistakable sarcasm in his voice. The hand disappeared and Harry opened his eyes drawn closed involuntarily a moment ago. His vision was back.

Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him, too close for it to look like a meeting between two friends or aqcuaintances, or - in this case - two enemies.

Indeed, someone could have seen them, standing there leaning into each other in between the last lingering shadows of the night and the first rays of morning, intertwined with the autumn mist, for no one in the Hogwarts soil slept their nights soundly.

Draco was beautiful and pale - not that all of them wouldn't be pale -, but Dracos palety was of such nature only obtained through heritage; aristocratic and soft. Not that damp, musty shade of grey the others carried. And all this class and grace was Harrys. Draco was his. A small smile tugged at the corners of Harry's mouth.

'Don't look at me like that.' Draco suddenly said as the silence grew too oppressive to bear. His gaze averted to the ground.

'Like what?'

'Like... Like I'm just an object, a painting or something that people stare without really seeing it. You do it all the time.' Draco said slowly, carefully considering every word. Harry felt like bursting into laughter

'And? I can stop looking at you for good, if you like.' Harry stated placidly and shoved his now almost insensible fingers deeper into the pockets of his cloak. Draco seemed - if possible - to grow even paler at this, as if Harry had just noted he wanted to slice Draco's throat. Not a completely bad idea at all, Harry pondered, a snow-white porcelain angel choking on its own sticky blood.

'Stop it.' Draco said quickly as if quessing what Harry was thinking about and before Harry had the chance to ask anything, Draco leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Harry's cold lips. Harry wanted to protest this sudden gesture, his hands hidden inside the cloak twitched wanting to shove Draco away. He hated when things like this happened; he hated not being in control. Draco soughed silently against Harrys mouth and pulled away, his eyes opened lazily and focused on Harry. Icy twirls mixed with stormy grey danced together in concordance in Draco's eyes, veiling many ugly and bleak memories of the past, yet nursing hundreds of hopeful, bashful wishes about the future - so frail one wouldn't dare to utter them aloud - and that spark.

That spark that must have been the thing which pushed Draco forwards. Harry wondered if maybe some of those things were also visible in his eyes. Could somebody interpret the most secret places inside his head by just taking a look at him, at his eyes? Did he also... Did he also possess that spark? Those same frighteningly fragile hopes? He wasn't quite sure he _wanted _to have those things inside him, let alone someone being able to point them out.

'I missed you.' Draco whispered, breaking Harry's line of thought. Harry allowed a small smile invade his lips.

'I recall seeing you just yesterday.'

'You know what I mean.' Draco snapped resentfully and flinched away. Yes, Harry did know what Draco meant.

'Sure. But before I freeze to death would you tell me why I had to drag myself all the way out here in the middle of the night? A hero needs his beautysleep, you know.'

Draco snorted arrogantly.

'Ah, yes. You do sleep so soundly and calmly, don't you now?' Dracos face twisted into a malicious sneer. Harry felt his muscles tense in a heartbeat, his hands clenched into two white-knuckled fists; he _hated _that stupid expression on Draco's face. That self-satisfied, condescending smirk which spread across the boys face, taking Harry back to the years of school a lifetime ago. Harry wanted to raise his hand and slap Draco straight in the face, to mutilate his concise features into formless flesh.

But he didn't, instead he just stared at Draco for a while, waiting. Soon Draco's expression faltered, Harry's eyes seemed to drill their way through straight into his skull.

'I just wanted to see you. I'm - ' Draco abruptly cut himself off.

_lonely. _The word sounded strange even inside his head.

Lonely in this huge castle where people sidestep me in the hallways and don't look me in the eye. 

But of course, he would never tell that to Harry.

'You're what? A pompous little asshole, maybe?' Harry offered.

Draco didn't bother to answer, it was always like this with Harry. Clever insults thrown from all directions, evil smiles and sometimes even hatred shining through Harry's eyes normally carefully veiled with indifference. Draco knew Harry didn't care for him the same way he did for him. It wasn't _love_ for christ sakes, of course not, but it was _something_ and that something made Draco feel more alive he'd felt for years, even before this awful war.

'Whatever turns you on.' Draco answered. Harry gave a dry laugh and fixed his eyes in the distance.

Harry was so mean and cruel nowadays. He wasn't that annoying, upright Gryffindor like he'd been, during those first golden years in Hogwarts. Everything had been so much easier back then, Draco used to know who he was. Or more like who his father wanted him to be. He didn't mind, it was easier like that; hearing father's voice in his own, feeling father's quick, determined pace under his own feet. He was just like his father, and when it was all that he'd ever wanted to be, then why complain? He wouldn't have even know _how_ to complain, and what about? For being the offspring of the most respected, wealthy families around? Even though at times he felt his mask slipping, like a loose end on a knitting, just waiting for that one last little tug to make it unwind. Even though he sometimes found himself looking at the mirror, shaken by his own face. Besides those accidental events, he had been pretty happy about his life. He knew his part inside out, he knew how to behave around people; swift, cruel comments came flying from his lips as if learned by heart but also curtious nods, maybe even a small smile for those carefully hand-picked individuals. He had a certain social position arranged for everyone in his life, oh it was so easy back then. He knew how to be around... How to be around Harry. Harry Potter - the arrogant, scrawny little kid who refused his hand on the train, Harry Potter - the awkward-looking for-eyes who made it to the Quidditch team on his first year, Harry Potter - the goddamn golden boy of Dumbledore, of Hogwarts, of the entire wizarding world. And what exactly had he done to achieve all that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Lied in a crib in some corner of some dodgy room, cried and screamed, didn't die from the most deadly unforgettable performed by the most deadly wizard around. Yes, that's what he'd done. He hadn't died. And people loved him for it.

But it didn't matter to Draco anymore, not like it used to. There was no hate left in him. It all had disappeared, as if someone had snapped their fingers and whispered the magic word in the darkness. And now he was at loss with himself. After his father disowned him... It had all been nothing but confusion, followed by Harry.

'Well, you've seen me now, right?' Harry said suddenly, his eyes still somewhere far away. He once again gripped the pendant's cool surface and tugged the chain, feeling the quick pain come and go like a wave breaking against the shore. Harry turned his gaze and seeing Draco with an unnervingly morose look on his face, continued with a hint of warmth in his voice. 'Let's go inside.'

Harry grasped Draco's shoulder and leaned in, pressing a small kiss on Draco's cool forehead. Draco seemed to melt under Harry's tender touch - these occasions were rare - and breathed in Harry's scent; old tobacco, dust and something sweetly bitter; firewhisky maybe. Harry stepped back and looked over his shoulder, in east. The sun was already half out; orange, yellow, red and gold played together in harmony, spreading their shades across the sky like a pair of stretching arms, reaching further and further. A new day was on its way.

'Harry?' Dracos voice awaked Harry from his thoughts. 'Lets go.'


	3. Chapter 3

When I started writing this I, of course, didn't know that Rowling was about to snuff out all my favorite characters, including Dumbledore, Lupin and Snape, so they will be appearing in my story. I've also changed some details about certain surroundings, places and such more to my liking.

Thanks for the reviews, they keep me going, so keep 'em coming. (Lyrics from Nine inch nails - All that could have been)

**Frostbites  
by**  
_Wednesday _

**_Chapter 3 : Scar tissue _**

_Breeze still carries the sound  
Maybe I'll disappear  
Tracks will fade in the snow  
You won't find me here_

* * *

Harry slumped down on a worn leather couch causing a small cloud of dust jump to the air and venture across the half-empty room. The dust was briefly captured by a shred of light from the window and it seemed to be dancing, dancing to its own mysterious melody; forming twirls and waves in the air. 

Harry took a look around in Dumbledores old study, he remembered how he'd gotten here for the first time; timid and shocked, only in his second year, terrified at what was coming. He had just found the petrified bodies of Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick, and McGonaggal had rushed him to Dumbledore's office. Today that fear seemed stupid compared to all those other horrid events occurred in his short life.

Harry felt like it had been a small eternity since his childhood, the old memories seemed somehow so far away and unreachable. As if it wasn't really him back then. On the other hand, Harry bitterly mused, he had never truly been a child. It had been deprived from him so effortlessly he hadn't really even noticed it, let alone had had the sense to resist it. First there were the Dursleys and a living hell with them, and then suddenly he was famous and liked and admired for things he didn't even remember. Suddenly he felt like home, only to find years later it was all fake. They only wanted to use him, they didn't care whether or not he had a childhood. They didn't care who he was. Maybe that's what made him so bitter and angry.

He remembered the enigmatic Fawkes sitting on his roost, all the portraits breaking into frantic whispering at his entering, the strange dim light coming from somewhere else than the windows or the candles, Dumbledore himself. Sitting behind that massive table of his, eyes forever twinkling with the same boyish glee. His lemon fudge, his half-moon spectacles and the hump on his crooked nose. But now the once so cluttered room was almost completely empty. The people painted in the portraits had vanished at the same time Dumbledore had. Fawkes was also gone. Filch had collected the empty frames and hidden them somewhere. The Ministry of Magic had confiscated the rest of Dumbledores belongings, and after its disintegration nobody knew what'd happened to them. Harry had a nasty feeling they'd been destroyed.

Everything that was left was covered with a thick layer of dust and the cold light made it all seem so old and deserted.

The room was sparsely used nowadays. Every once in a while Harry went up by himself, sat down on the dark wooden floor and did nothing. Just sat there, lost in thought. It had been decided in silent agreement that the room was Harry's special place of deliberation, that he went up there whenever he wanted to ponder some seriously tricky battle-strategies and other problems concerning the war. That's why nobody ever disturbed Harry while hiding in Dumbledores office. Harry knew this and exploited it without remorse, allowing people to nurse their illusions. At least they let him be.

'Harry. I'm happy you're already here.' professor Lupin entered the open door and shut it behind him, it let out a silent clang. Harry pushed up from the comfort of the couch, this time he hadn't come up for nothing. At the break of dawn there had been a small piece of parchment slid under his door, asking him to come to the principals office after breakfast. Since Harry never ate breakfast he'd been early. Lupin was one of the few professors who had stayed in the castle after the whole Dumbledore-mess.

Lupin seemed... Old. Not in the way people who age normally do, with wrinkles and age spots. Lupin had already in his youth seemed older than the others in his year, caused of course by the fact that he was a werewolf. He had those grey - now more close to white - stripes on his thick hair that he'd carelessly tied to a ponytail, his hazel eyes glowing with that constant warmth and understanding, trying to spread their healing power around. But today Lupin's gaze didn't hold that same effect as it had before. Something cold and damp was slowly spreading itself into his eyes, like a robust, hazy coating, and his gaze was tarnished by certain amount of despair and pain. Everything else in Lupin was pretty much the same, as if the war didn't have quite the same effect on him as it had on everybody else. His skin was sun kissed, his face youthful and he smiled criminally much.

Harry flinched as Lupin gave him one of those soft smiles. The man strode across the floor, leaving the prints of his shoes pressed into the thick dust, to Dumbledores old desk and laid the files he carried in his arms on it. Lupin had truly been born to be a teacher, Harry mused, although there no longer were pupils to teach. Lupin turned around and walked to Harry, for a moment the man just stood before him, regarding him as if thinking about something. Then he circled his arms around Harry and hugged him, it was a unitary, quick movement that only lasted for a heartbeat. In the next moment Lupin had already detached himself from Harry as if afraid that if the contact would last too long, he'd brake the boy.

Harry flinched again. He didn't like people touching him.

'Harry. It's been a while.' Lupin said and smiled once more.

'It has, Remus. I didn't think you'd be gone for so long.' Harry admitted, he sinked back to the couch and Lupin sat down next to him.

'To tell you the truth, neither did I. But I obtained many clues indicating he'd traveled somewhere north and so I went for it. The trip was unbelievably uncomfortable, I hate those airplanes.' Lupin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck when the unpleasant night on the plane came back to him. 'They're not even nearly as fast as floo-powder but of course I couldn't risk traveling through the floo network.'

Harry leaned back on the couch. For many weeks now it had been quiet. The war appeared to have come to a halt, it only seemed like a distant memory, like a threatening dark cloud in the distance, but Harry knew that beyond the deceptive tranquility there was something big on the move. Voldemort was up to something. Nevertheless, Harry had enjoyed the silence - while others found it ominous -, it offered him a brief escape from the man he fought so hard to pretend to be. And now there was Lupin who wanted to pull him back into reality. Suddenly Harry remembered that there truly was a war raging outside; it was dangerous everywhere and at any minute Voldemort himself might attack the castle. In fact, Harry wondered why the man hadn't already done it. Everyone knew that Hogwarts was now completely vulnerable. There were only a few dozen aurors and members of the Guild and also some students who had insisted to stay, most from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw - the rest of the Wizarding World seemed to have petrified from horror, many had left their homes and moved away. Harry played with the idea that Voldemort was afraid of him. It was childish, of course, for Voldemort had hundreds of trained Death Eaters beside him, and Harry had just a castle full of weary, starved wizards and witches.

'But when I got there, all the sings of Albus seemed to have vanished.' Lupin sighed, frustrated.

'I don't think no-one's going to find him if he himself does not wish to be found.' Harry stated dryly. 'You returned yesterday, right?'

Lupin nodded.

'I would have seen you straight away, but a certain pale gentleman advised me otherwise.' Lupin said with a mischievous glint in his eye, giving Harry a meaningful look. 'He was waiting in my study when I arrived and insisted that you were way too tired to see anyone.'

Suddenly Harry's hand shot up to the chain around his neck. One quick pull.

'I see.'

Lupin watched Harry for a moment, his expression drawing serious.

'I heard that it has been quiet for some time now. No news on the Death Eaters?'

'No. Nothing in two weeks. Not one single strike. I called the scouts back three days ago, it.s no use having them lurk around when nothing's happening. They deserve a small break.' Harry explained and his heart settled back to its normal rhythm. Lupin nodded and his poise slumped, a stray lock of hair fell to his face, he seemed lost in thought.

'Sometimes it feels like everything would be easier if... If Sirius was still here.' he said quietly, talking more to himself than to Harry.

Harry remained silent. He wasn't that convinced at all that anything would be easier with Sirius still alive. In fact, Harry couldn't quite even remember what Sirius had been like. They sat in silence for a moment and then Lupin sobered.

'Well then, now that we have dealt with business... How are you, Harry?' Lupin asked and studied Harry's face as if trying to find the answer from his wan face.

The abruptness of the question surprised Harry. He didn't know how to answer. It had been such a long time since someone had asked how he felt, that he no longer remembered what was the right way to answer.

'I can't say 'fine' because it would be a lie, and an absurd one at that.' Harry said with an absent, bitter smile.

Lupins eyes grew dark, and Harry sensed the immense pity stem from the very core of the old werewolf. Instantly there were sparks of hatred smoking inside Harry, what right did Lupin have to pity him? _No-one_ had that right. He'd been pitied for all his life, ever since Hagrid picked him up from the ruins in Godric's Hollow, and Harry hated it.

'Excuse me, Remus, but I must leave you now.' Harry quickly said and stood up. He did not want to risk losing his temper. 'I have a meeting soon and Karkaroff's messenger will arrive at noon.' Harry's voice was considerate yet distant. Lupin seemed confused. His face was bathed by the sunlight flooding from the window, and the man seemed to glow.

'Of course. But if you ever need to talk, Harry, then remember I'm always here for you.' he said hesitantly, as if afraid of sounding silly. Harry wanted to laugh.

'I will. Goodbye.'

----

Harry strolled down the steps carved from stone, the coldness was all around him and pushed through his damp clothes. He would have been blind in the penetrating darkness had he not carried a small lantern in his hand. Harry was on his way to the dungeons. After a while the stairs came to an end and Harry was in a narrow corridor which broadened while going further. Just a moment ago at the closure of yet another pointless meeting, was decided that everyone still left in Hogsmeade would be evacuated permanently, so that the wizards posted there could be moved to more critical areas. Harry wasn't, per se, interested in the fate of Hogsmeade or not even if or if not they managed to get more troops to defend other areas. This war had been hopeless to begin with. At times Harry wondered if he should just go and give himself up to Voldemort, to let that stupid obsessed man murder him like he had murdered his parents. It would all end in one quick flash of green. The war would be over and the world would lapse under Voldemorts tyranny. Harry's name would be wiped out from the history books, and soon no-one would no longer remember The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry arrived to a door carved from black wood; it was enormous. Engraved on it were two snakes entwined with each other and of course the symbols of Salazar Slytherin. Harry snorted at the flamboyance of the door, it was so slytherin-like.

Harry wondered for the space of a heartbeat whether or not he should knock, and pushed the door open. Passwords were no longer needed, Harry had entrance to wherever he liked.

This was the first time Harry'd been to the Slytherin commonroom in years, Draco always came to him, never the other way around. The room was of oval shape, and the ceiling was somewhere far up, almost out of sight in in the semi-darkness. Placed in the centre of the room was a long table, covered by a green cloth. Dozens of candles illuminated the rough walls forming strange black shadows across the room. Far at the other side of the room was a tremendous fireplace with frames made out of silver. In front of the fireplace were two immersing green couches. Harry stepped in to the room and closed the door behind him, he advanced across the stone floor to the fireplace, which held inside an enormous blaze of fire. Warmth washed over Harry's cold limbs. The top of the mantelpiece was so high up Harry couldn't see on top of it.

'Harry?' came a drowsy voice behind him. Draco had been asleep on one of the green couches. The boy tried to rub the sleep away from his eyes, his wax-white hands glowing against the soft shimmer of the flames, and turned his gaze to Harry. Suddenly the boy's eyes widened.

'What's happened?' he demanded and sat up, his senses now fully wake, suddenly realizing the peculiarity of the situation. Harry _never _came to him, it was always the other way around, and even at that Harry oozed indignation and hostility.

'Nothing.' Harry answered truthfully, took a small brake and then continued with a velvet-soft tone. 'Why did you tell Lupin I didn't want to see him?'

At first Draco seemed abashed, but then his grey eyes flashed of understanding and a vague shade of red climbed up to rest on his cheeks.

Again the old familiar burst of anger crashed inside Harry's chest. He hated seeing Draco like that; a divinely pale creature sitting frozen in place like an angel of glass. Too perfect. Once again Harry wanted to hit Draco.

'I... I thought you wanted to be alone. To rest.' Draco said after a moment and tried to pull himself together. He was, to say the least, ashamed of being caught playing the mother hen.

_A Malfoy would not act like that. A Malfoy would know his place. A Malfoy would never let out anything else but strict, handled poise and grace._

Once again, his fathers words inside his head. But then again, Draco mused -

_I no longer am a Malfoy, father. _

'You have no right to decide who I see and when I choose to do so.' Harry said, anger echoing with every word. His right hand rose to his neck, to the silver chain and he tugged it again, this time so violently that he really felt it. He bit his lip and felt the warmth of his own blood running down his neck.

'The last time I checked, my mother was dead and I do not want a replacement.'

'I know your mother's dead, Harry. I know you have suffered.' Draco said, now feeling his own hatred starting to build up. 'But don't think that I'm going to start worshiping and admiring you for _that_ just like everyone else.'

'I have never asked anyones admiration.' Harry said and his voice carried an ominous tone, like thunder rising miles away. The flames created black shadows on his face, as if his features were formed of nothing but endless gulches. One couldn't read anything from the expression on Harry's face, but his eyes shone poisonously green amidst all the blackness.

'Haven't you really, Harry? Don't you with every action beg and plead of peoples acceptance?' Draco asked with a calm, even tone and stared straight into the depths of Harry's flaming eyes. Draco could see that he'd gone too far; the other boys eyes started to flood with such rage and hate, it didn't belong into a young mans eyes, it shouldn't belong to anyones eyes. 'Don't you sit alone in your room and hope that everyone will put their faith on you because that is all that you've got.' Draco finished and didn't drop his gaze from Harry's dazing eyes. In the next moment Harry had advanced to Draco, grabbed his clothes and threw him against the mantelpiece. The air escaped Draco's lungs and before he had the chance to pull himself together, Harry was already there.

Harry's mind was blank. He let the anger come and take him over; he almost enjoyed it. The way it crashed over him, trapping him inside it; he was no longer himself, there was just the pureness and the innocence of the feeling.

_All these people... They deserve my anger. For all they've done to me._

The rage crawled in his spine like a mass of poisonous snakes, burning. He pressed Draco hard against the frame of the fireplace, knowing it was burning hot. He wanted to make Draco scream. He wanted to hear a cry of pain escape those perfect soft lips.

Harry punched Draco straight in the face, the boys head flew to the side.

'Don't.' Draco cried when Harry raised his hand to hit him again. Draco's body was shaking, he'd pinched his eyes shut. The hot metal was burning his back and he couldn't breath. 'I'm sorry. I won't do it again.' his voice was quivering now. He opened his eyes.

Harry took a step back and nodded. Draco quickly wiped the sleeve of his shirt over his eyes and his face grew expressionless in a second. Harry witnessed the infamous Malfoy mask slide on Draco so easily he was almost jealous of it.

Harry clearly felt how generations of Malfoys were looking at him through Draco's eyes, with that coldness which seemed to find its way through to one's heart.

Draco seemed as if nothing had happened, as if they'd just been standing there for eternity; Harry was barely dust and air and the world had stopped in motion.

'Leave.' Draco said evenly, not harshly or angrily, just with a tone totally neutral, totally dead.

And Harry went.

---

The velvet darkness wrapped itself around the castle little by little, the torches lit up by themselves and the corridors echoed with the sound of closing doors. Outside, the sun cast its last rays upon the sky and coated Hogwarts and its grounds with amber glow, for a moment the castle glittered magically, but then the sun disappeared and long shadows devoured everything.

Soon it was quiet, the castle fell into restless sleep. Draco laid in his bed down in the dungeons, thick covers hid his lithe body almost completely, one could hardly distinguish him. He stared into the darkness, waiting.

There was a silent clang somewhere further away and after a moment the door to his room creacked open and a warm shred of light penetrated the darkness.

'Fuck off, Potter.' Draco spat. 'I need my _beautysleep.'_

Harry smiled bitterly in the darkness and sat down on the side of Draco's bed, he watched the small bundle between the covers and said quietly:

'No-one who looks like you needs a beautysleep.'


End file.
